When Beauty Became A Curse
by cindella204
Summary: Sequel to When Life Became A Game / Finnick is finally starting to figure out his new life when he is forced to mentor in the 66th Hunger Games and finds out the price he'll have to pay for making it out of the arena. As his pride, dignity, and self-respect are stripped from him can Finnick stay strong for the sake of those he loves?
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER:**

**There are several concepts, characters, and real life things that I use and/or mention in this chapter that I don't own. These include but are not limited to the Hunger Games, Finnick Odair, and Cashmere**

**...**

**A/N: First of all: I am never setting deadlines for myself ever again. Ugh. This was done on time, but I had flight drama on the 23rd keeping it from getting up then, and then I was WAY busier than expected during the trip. I didn't even get my school work done, never mind uploading this. Anyway:**

**Welcome to ****_When Beauty Became A Curse_****! Starting a new multi-chapter story is really exciting! This one will be pretty different from _When Life Became A Game_, but I'm hoping that you will still like it. If you're new here, then this is a sequel to my story _When Life Became A Game_. You can certainly read this without reading _WLBAG_, but there will be references to things you haven't seen...**

**Lastly, if I owe you a commission: Soon****. I've planned and started all of them, and they are on the way.**

**IN THIS CHAPTER: **Moderate sexual themes and language

**...**

**PROLOGUE**

**September - 66th Hunger Games**

**The Capitol**

"Now what?"

Silence.

"Cashmere."

"Would you please calm down? My God, you may be pretty but your personality needs work."

"Noted. I'll see if I can make any improvements. It'll just take time, because, you know, being a _whore_ doesn't exactly come as naturally to me as it does to you. Sorry for the inconvenience."

She makes eye contact with me for the first time. "Look, Finnick, I know you have a major grudge against District One, which is fine, and you especially hate me because I had to introduce to all of this, but frankly, get over yourself. This is my only day off for the rest of the Games most likely and I'm here, with you, which is honestly worse than if I was working because I have to be mentally present with you. I didn't have this when I started. I was the first person who got dealt this card, and when I found it out, it was from a letter, and my first client was on the other side of the door waiting for me. In summary, stop taking your angst out on me, because God knows I don't have to be here, and I'm doing you a _favor_ right now."

God, I hate people who guilt trip. Probably because it works.

"Fine, sorry. Not in the best frame of mind right now."

"And that's what I'm worried about."

"What?"

"I'm not worried about you being able to deliver. You're…you. I'm worried about it destroying you, because it almost destroyed me, and I know what you said is true, being a whore doesn't come as naturally to you as it did to me."

This is getting way too personal for comfort. I can talk shit in my sleep, whereas having conversations about feelings is not my forte.

"What, so being a whore came naturally to you?"

"No, definitely not, but you're so, I don't know. You're as attractive as hell, but it's obvious, at least to me, that you're the kind of person who gets into a relationship and stays in it long-term. I mean, when you were talking about that one girl in your Games interview I could tell by the look on your face every time you said her name that you _loved_ her. I was never really in love like that. I wasn't screwing people all the time like I am now, but I was never in exclusive relationships either. I preferred a few casual dates every once in awhile. It just takes a lot of effort to be in a happy, healthy, relationship, and I didn't care that much. You, on the other hand, do, so this will be even worse for you."

"So I'm screwed. No pun intended. Awesome. Where the hell are my clothes?"

Cashmere rolls her eyes. "Why would I know?"

"Maybe because _you_ were the one who took them off of me. I know where your clothes are. You're shirt's right next to the bed, you're skirt's in that corner, and I think your underwear are under the covers somewhere."

"Well then you're just a superior human being, Finnick, because I have a hard time having sex and keeping track of where I'm throwing people's clothes at the same time. I'll try harder next time."

"ADHD. Ninety-nine percent of the time it's a curse, but it got me out of my Games alive and it let's me do things like that, so, you know…And there's my pants."

I slip my underwear back on before sliding out of the bed and going to retrieve my pants.

"See you tomorrow."

"Wait, where's your shirt?"

"No clue, I'm leaving without it. I'm only going up three floors in the elevator. Night, Cashmere."

"I don't know, Finnick. What if some unfortunate upper district mentor is on their way up to their floor and the faint at the sight of the sight of your perfect, naked torso."

I roll my eyes. "Good _night_, Cashmere."

"Oh, Finnick, wait!"

I stop in the doorway.

"You know that this doesn't change anything, right? District Four kids have always been the brains of the career pack, but last year was a new low. Now they require mental preparedness at the academy and show them videos from your Games. My kids are pretty much trained to hate you."

That's comforting. "Yeah, I know. It was sex. Completely physical."

She nods. "Okay, good night."

"Night."

And it begins.

**...**

**A/N: Well, that's that. Let me know what you think.**

**-cindella204**


	2. PART I: The Inception: Chapter 1

**SHOUT OUTS:**

**Thanks for reviewing The Ice Within, sparklegem108, Account Currently on Hiatus, and BaileyRene!**

**...**

**DISCLAIMER:**

**There are several concepts, characters, and real life things that I use and/or mention in this chapter that I don't own. These include but are not limited to the Hunger Games, Finnick Odair, and President Snow.**

**...**

**A/N: Very short chapter, but I liked it...going to work on commissions now, but I had a really good idea so I wrapped this up first. Also, this story now has a cover, and I have re-designed the _When Life Became A Game_ cover. I wanted to have some consistent elements throughout the series, and the typography I used for the original WLBAG cover(s) just didn't work for this story. Period. So I did a re-design and...yeah, it's done. I'm going to go upload the covers to my deviantART profile now, so you can see them much larger if you'd like. Even if you're not into "supplemental piece" I'd encourage you to check them out, I really like them and I think they represent the stories pretty well. Link to my dA profile is on my FF.N profile.**

**...**

**IN THIS CHAPTER: **A little bit of Language. With a capital L.

**...**

**CHAPTER 1**

**THREE MONTHS LATER**

**District Four**

_When the doorbell rings early in the morning, Nataly Odair doesn't think much of answering it in her bathrobe. She normally wouldn't even be up at that hour on a Sunday, her one day off, but Finnick is leaving for the Capitol later that day, and she has things to finish before he leaves._

_After all, she wasn't thinking that the President of Panem would be at her door._

_Heat floods to her cheeks and she attempts to pull the bathrobe down to a length appropriate for a forty-five year woman as she lets him. She offers him tea and excuses herself to change into decent clothes, using the stealth skills she teaches every day to keep from waking Finnick up as she tears her closet apart trying to find something good enough for _President Snow_._

_She needs to do laundry._

_She eventually decides on the blue maxi dress that she wore for graduation in August. It's not exactly appropriate for the weather in December, but it's not like she'll be going outside in it, and it's the nicest thing she has. She has the money for nice things now, but she usually doesn't bother since she's doing athletic training six days a week. _

_She comes back down the stairs to find President Snow sipping his tea and furiously typing on a device that looks similar to Finnick's phone. They offered her one when she won, but she turned it down. While having a telephone in their house was certainly a welcome upgrade, she didn't feel the need to have the phone with her at all times._

_"Is this tea satisfactory, Mr. President?"_

_"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Odair."_

_When he says "Mrs." she absently starts twisting the sapphire wedding ring on her finger. She hasn't taken it off since, not for swimming, fishing, training, or other._

_"May I ask why you've come to visit us, Mr. President?"_

_"I was hoping to speak with your son before he goes to the Capitol since I will not be available while he is there."_

_Nataly Odair doesn't understand how he has time to take a hovercraft all the way here, but not to find ten spare minutes in the five weeks that Finnick will be in the Capitol, but she decides not to ask questions of Panem's president._

_"Of course! I think he's asleep, but I can go wake him now."_

_"That won't be necessary, Mrs. Odair, but I appreciate the spirit of the offer."_

_She can't stop the question. "But I thought—"_

_"I'll be back, Mrs. Odair." The look in his eyes seems to pin her to the spot where she stands although Finnick is going to _kill_ her for letting President Snow into his room when he's asleep._

_And he walks upstairs._

**...**

I wake up to my door opening. With victor reflexes pretty much anything can wake you up, but I ignore it. Whoever it is will have to work a lot harder than that to get me up this ridiculously early. The sun's not even up, granted it is December.

Whoever it is comes to sit right next to me, and smells like some really nasty floral perfume. Probably someone from my prep team. Ugh. I really don't want to go to the Capitol right now.

"Happy Birthday, Finnick."

My mind shorts out at the voice, but I manage to keep it from showing on my face. What in the name of God…

Without opening my eyes or making any move to get up, I ask:

"Hey President Snow, any reason why you're watching me sleep like a fucking creeper?"

**...**

**A/N: Well, that's that. I know you're probably thinking WTF, why would he say that?! Reasoning coming in the next chapter. I promise there's a reason.**

**Review?**


	3. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER:**

**There are several concepts, characters, and real life things that I use and/or mention in this chapter that I don't own. These include but are not limited to the Hunger Games, Finnick Odair, President Snow.**

**...**

**A/N: Parts of this chapter I really love and parts I'm not sure about. Hopefully there's at least one part that you really love too. **

**...**

**IN THIS CHAPTER: **More cursing than usual, but I think it's warranted. Introduction to some dubious consent...

**...**

**CHAPTER 2**

"Hey, President Snow, any reason why you're watching me sleep like a fucking creeper?" The words leave my mouth in an impulsive moment, but I don't regret them. I severely doubt he's going to do anything to me anyway, because I'm too "valuable". If I'm going to be sold into sexual slavery come the next Hunger Games I'm at least going to use it as an excuse to talk shit.

I have a thing for being insubordinate.

My assumptions are confirmed when President Snow just chuckles. "Oh, Finnick…Anyway, I needed to speak with you, and your mother said you were asleep. I suppose I should have known better; a little bit of the arena stays with every victor."

I immediately think of a retort about just how much the arena stays with a victor, but I decide against it. There's a difference between just having a mouth and complaining about the Hunger Games.

One is being an asshole who likes to test boundaries. The other is _treason_.

"Yeah, I would say so. So basically you came to talk? Even though I'm leaving for the Capitol today and I'll be there for five weeks?"

"There were concerns with scheduling, and this ended up being easier."

Bullshit. He came here because he wanted to make a statement and scare the crap out of my poor mother.

"If we're going to have a serious talk or whatever can I go shower? Ten minutes tops, I swear. Trust me, I've been showering in locker rooms all of my life."

Whoops, just mentioned illegal training to the President of Panem. I've also cursed at him and now I'm asking him to wait while I shower.

God, my mother would kill me.

His reply is "Sure, whatever," and I get out of bed, try to ignore the fact that the President of Panem is staring at my ass (when you're stared at as much as me you develop a sixth sense), grab clothes, and head to the bathroom, setting the shower for less than five minutes.

So President Snow just showed up in my bedroom at some ungodly hour of the morning to talk to me. And for some reason this required the dramatics of coming to the house. I try to think of any good reason for that.

And fail. Unless this is about my talent, but last year he didn't care about it at all. The talents aren't even about him; it's just a way to make sure that victors can show Panem how happy they are in their new lives.

Ugh.

I step out of the shower and put on a t-shirt and a pair of athletic pants before going back to my room. Once again, my mother would kill me, but I don't really care at this point.

I walk back into my room to see President Snow on his phone. It's freaky as hell to see him, texting, _in my bedroom_.

"Done, thanks."

"No problem, Finnick. So…happy birthday."

"Thank you."

"You're sixteen. A man in the eyes of the Capitol."

Oh _God._ "I guess so…"

"But you aren't just a man, Finnick. You are an icon, a representation of everything that the relationship between the Capitol and the Districts can and should be, and my God, the people of the Capitol want it, and they want it _now_.

And I swear to God in that moment

My.

Heart.

_Stops_.

I've always been one to live one day at a time. If I actively worried about every problem that I knew was coming my way I would have had a stroke before I even got to my Games.

I already knew about this. And then it was solidified with that whole sex with Cashmere thing. Sure, it's been in the back of my head, but I have yet to really deal with it.

But now it's real and it's happening _soon_.

I leave today.

I could be in some Capitol woman's bed in _six hours_.

Six. Hours.

And then I remember that I'm having a conversation with President Snow right now, so I neutralize my facial expression and flip the emotional switch. I need to stop thinking before I have a breakdown.

"Can't say I'm surprised," I say, with one hundred percent of my focus on keeping my voice even.

President Snow smiles and it's downright creepy. "Of course, none of us are. But regardless, the people of the Capitol must be satisfied, as I'm sure you know, and I've had a team of people working to find a solution."

In my head I can see them, all huddled around a big round table in a conference room drafting up the terms of my prostitution.

I _really_ need to stop thinking like that.

"Really now?"

"Really. And I think we've found one. Citizens donate to a special fund with the reward of spending time with you."

"Spending time? How much, and doing what?" I know the answers to both, but I want to see if he'll give me a straight answer.

"Well, how much time would depend on how much they donated. There is very little that enough money can't buy. And doing what, that also depends on the person. However they want to spend the time is how the time will be spent. You are providing a service in which the customer is always right and their needs _will_ be met. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," I say drily. Although it was presented nicely, I know exactly what this really is, and I'd like this conversation to end ASAP.

"Fantastic, Finnick. It was good to talk to you. And your mother is a lovely woman. I'd hate to see something happen to her." And he walks out.

_I'd hate to see something happen to her._

_I'd hate to see something happen to her._

_I'd hate to see something happen to her._

That's a direct threat.

Fuck.

**...**

After President Snow makes his dramatic exit I don't leave my room. I can't move, can't speak, and can barely think. I _know_ I wasn't this anxious when I got reaped. Then I didn't know what was coming for me.

Years of training certainly didn't hurt either.

But now I'm going into one of the most degrading experiences of my life with nothing but a sympathy visit from Cashmere. Not to mention that—

I hear the front door open, and then Lallie's voice.

"Hi, Ms. Odair, good to see you again. Where's Finnick?"

"I haven't actually seen him today. President Snow came by and woke him up so they could talk, and he never came downstairs afterward."

Lallie swears and my mom immediately becomes worried. "What, is there something wrong with that? Should I be worried?" There's a pause, and then, "Lallie, if you know what this is about, he's the only one I have and I _can't_ lose him."

"It's not what happened, it's that it happened this soon. I thought we had more time, that's all. Don't worry about it, it's crap with the talents and all that. Sometimes President Snow feels the need to be dramatic, hence the personal visit."

"If you're sure…Finnick should be upstairs."

"Thanks."

I don't even bother to look presentable. Lallie know's what's up, and if she doesn't, she will soon enough. She knocks briefly, and when I don't respond opens the door anyway.

"Hey, Finnick."

I raise an eyebrow. "New look?"

Lallie stands before me in a dark pink jacket, some kind of black dress that ends in shorts, ripped black tights, and sneakers that match the jacket. Her hair's been dyed a reddish brown to accent burgundy makeup and grayish blue eyes, and all her tattoos are now silver.

Lallie rolls her eyes. "I work in fashion, so at some point even I have to completely re-vamp my style. I usually do it after the Games every year, so when you met me I had just switched to the blond hair and purple eyes. Now it's this. Next year it will be something else."

I nod, lacking the emotional energy to keep up my end of a conversation. It's silent for a moment before Lallie says, "You look like you could use a hug."

The look I pin her with is probably unnecessarily harsh, but physical contact is on my blacklist right now.

"Or maybe a sympathetic look from someone who knows all too well what you're going through?"

Okay, so maybe she doesn't know what's up.

"What I really need is to go to the Training Center and swim laps until it's hard to breathe, never mind think, but they're in session right now, so that's not an option."

"In session?"

"Yeah, it's Monday afternoon. Classes are running right now. So I just need to get the hell out of here."

I push past Lallie and sprint downstairs where my mom is waiting on the couch.

"Finnick…what's going on?" They're's something broken about the way she asks, and it makes me hesitate in telling her the lie I had planned.

But how the hell do I tell her this? My phone vibrates and I ignore it. How would I say that to her?

_Heads up mom, President Snow's forcing me into prostitution. I just thought you should know_.

Yeah, okay. My phone continues to vibrate and eventually I pull it out of my pocket.

"So help me God, if this stupid thing—"

Then I actually read what's on my screen.

~0~

_**Message from President Snow:**_

_Oh, and by the way, this is our little secret. No need to tell anyone else about it, right?_

~0~

What the _fuck_? How did he even know that I was thinking about telling her?

My alarm must show on my face, because I barely have time to lock my phone before my mom's at my shoulder.

"Finnick. What the hell is going on?"

Oh great, I've freaked her out enough for her to swear. My mouth definitely doesn't come from her, and I try (and usually fail) to keep it in check around her.

"What Lallie said. My talent's gotten screwed up and President Snow is being annoying about it."

"Finnick, if there's something else going on…look, you're my son, and to be blunt about it, you're the only thing on this goddamn earth that I have left. I love you unconditionally, and whatever it is, we'll get through it together, but I need you to _tell_ me."

"There's nothing else, mom, you're being paranoid. Have a good holiday and I'll see you in January."

**...**

I _fucking_ hate life. I hate lying to my mom, I hate the Capitol, I hate being a victor, and I hate having to keep a smile on my face while my entire world burns.

_Hate it_.

But what I want and how I feel isn't worth jack shit, and the only way I'm getting home is if I make it through this, so like everything else I suck it up and deal with it.

The day flies by. I'm staying in the same penthouse as last year. I don't have one big project, but lots of little ones. This week I'm doing a campaign for some formalwear company. I still hate ties. I don't think I apply even fifty percent of my attention to anything I do all day. In my room I find two pill bottles.

A "performance enhancer" and birth control.

That evening I go to dinner with Satrina Snow. She is President Snow's first daughter from his third wife, and it's her birthday too. She's turning thirty-eight.

Seven years younger than my mom.

To use my mom's words, Satrina looks like something out of a story book. Her tan is even darker than mine, and she's wearing olive green and blue eye makeup, dark burgundy blush, and a light peach lipstick, contrasting heavily with her long and pin-straight white hair tied up into a ponytail. Her dress is white and feathery at the bottom with white sandals, a pink purse, tacky jewelry, and a gold ring with diamonds and spikes.

I suppose she's nice enough, but her intentions are _very_ clear throughout dinner. I am her birthday gift: a hot piece of ass, and that's all I'm supposed to be. I attempt to get completely _blitzed_, but apparently that move was anticipated because they cut me off after two drinks. With my tolerance I don't even get buzzed until three and a half.

We're driven back to the presidential mansion afterward, and the whole damn house smells like the deranged roses that I've come to associate with President Snow. When she insists that we walk through the greenhouse I just about have a panic attack, but then it's to the bedroom.

_The bedroom_.

She makes some pathetic small talk before making it clear that she's _ready_.

As I lean forward to kiss her I feel a match go to the very last thing I have left.

My dignity.

**...**

**A/N: Thanks to BaileyRene and The Ice Within for reviewing.**

**Go check my Polyvore (link on my profile) to see Lallie and Satrina's outfits and makeup. Also, Satrina is one of the seventeen names of Lilith who is the mother of all demons in Jewish mythology, in case you're curious.**

**Review?**


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